


Heaven Waits for You

by ami_ven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death from Old Age, F/M, Fix Everything, Fix-It, Future, Happily Ever After, Humor, M/M, Series Finale, Song: Carry on My Wayward Son (Kansas), appearances by many other characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29285004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ami_ven/pseuds/ami_ven
Summary: After Chuck is defeated and Jack is God, the future is theirs to write for themselves.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak
Comments: 15
Kudos: 70





	Heaven Waits for You

**Author's Note:**

> I think if all of us write a finale fix-it, we can generate enough mojo to just cancel it out altogether…

“I’m not coming with you,” said Jack.

“What?”

He smiled. “I’m… well, I guess I’m God now. And there’s a lot to do.”

“Like what?” asked Dean. “Everything’s back to normal.”

“Everything’s back to normal _on Earth_ ,” Jack corrected. “Heaven wasn’t originally designed to work without Chuck, and when he left it began slowly breaking down over the millennia. And it was powered by the angels, and with so few of those… I need to fix Heaven so it works by itself, _for_ the human souls that reside there. Plus, there are all those other worlds that Chuck destroyed. It’ll be a lot of work.” 

He smiled and tapped his temple. “But Aunt Amara is with me. She was there the first time around, and she says she’ll help. It’ll be a little while before she can visit, though. I have to build her a new vessel, and making one that can sustain god-level power takes time, even for me.”

“But you’ll be okay?” asked Sam.

Jack smiled again. “Yes. But very busy. And…” He hesitated. “I’ll always hear your prayers, both of you, but I won’t always be able to answer. Being God is a _big_ responsibility, and I don’t want to end up like my grandfather. Earth needs Free Will, but that means letting bad things happen sometimes. Even to people I love.”

“We understand,” Sam said. “But you will come back to see us, right? You’re always welcome.”

“Welcome,” scoffed Dean. Sam shot him an annoyed look, but he continued, “Look, kid, I know what I said earlier, but… you’re _family_. You need a break from rebuilding the universe, you can always come home.”

Jack beamed, hearing the genuine affection behind Dean’s gruff-sounding words. “Thank you, Dean. But before I go, there are a few things I need to do, even if they _are_ interfering. Even God can’t be responsible all the time.”

There was a flash of light, unnoticed by any of the people still going about their business on the street, and Eileen was suddenly beside them.

“Sam?” she asked, expression both worried and annoyed. “What happened? Where are we? What’s—?” 

Eileen broke off as Sam seized her in a fierce hug, wrapping his long arms around her and holding on tight. She hugged him back, but when it became clear he wasn’t letting go anytime soon, she looked questioningly over his shoulder at Dean.

“Everything is okay,” he said, speaking clearly so she could read his lips. “Sammy will explain everything.”

“Including how my car got here?”

“Absolutely.”

Eileen nodded, “Okay,” and rested her head on Sam’s shoulder.

Dean smiled at them for a moment, then turned back to Jack. “Everybody _is_ okay, right? Donna, Jody and the girls, Bobby, Charlie, Garth’s family…?”

“Yes, everybody is okay,” said Jack. “I left each of them a voice mail message, so they’d know you’re okay, too.”

“That’s,” Dean tried not to laugh, “That’s very thoughtful, Jack.”

“Thank you. Now, there’s just yours left, Dean, but that will take a little longer. Wait right here.”

“My what?” asked Dean, but Jack was already gone.

Beside him, Sam straightened again, pulling away only far enough that Eileen could see his face, and offered a watery smiled. “Sorry, sorry, it’s… It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

She smiled back. “Dean said you’ll explain everything. Even my car.”

“I will,” he promised. “Every detail. Wait, where’s Jack?”

Dean shrugged. “Said he’d be right back. With ‘mine’, whatever that means.”

Sam glanced at Eileen, then began softly, “Dean…”

Jack returned in another flash of light.

“Thank you,” Sam told him. “For… for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” said Jack, smiling, then his expression grew serious. “I wanted to say goodbye before I went back to Heaven. I…I think I understand why my grandfather went wrong. He was God and he’d only ever been God. He knew how to be worshipped, but he never knew how to be _loved_. He made all of creation to be his playthings and when they didn’t do what he wanted, they were worthless to him.

“But I’ve been loved. The small, quiet ways that humans love. I had a mother and three fathers who loved me, even when it was hard. Creation isn’t a toy, it’s a child. God should love it, even when it makes bad choices. He needs to _let_ it make those choices, on its own, and be proud no matter what happens.”

Jack took a long breath and smiled again. “That’s what I’m going to try and do. Be as good a father to the universe as you were to me.”

“Jack…” began Dean, throat tight.

“Of course you made some mistakes, Dean,” he said, still smiling. “But you tried and you cared, that’s what counts. You care so deeply, even when you can’t admit it.”

“ _Jack…_ ”

“Talk to him, Dean,” said Jack, gently. “He deserves to hear the words. And so do you.”

“I—” Dean began, but Jack was gone again.

In his place stood Castiel, in his trench coat and backward tie, blinking at the sudden sunshine before he spotted them.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean drew in an unsteady breath, but no sound came out.

Cas’s smile dimmed slightly, and he turned to the others. “Sam, Eileen.”

“Hey, Cas,” she said, as Sam moved to hug him.

“What happened?” added Sam.

“Jack talked to the Empty.”

“Just talked?” asked Eileen.

Cas nodded. “It is an entity as old as Chuck, Amara and the original Death. It was meant to be a void, a nothingness. But when Lucifer led the angels to war, the dead began appearing in the Empty. The entity only wanted peace and quiet, but it couldn’t expel the angels. It could only put them to sleep, and keeping them asleep took continuous effort. That’s also why it was so mad at me – when I devastated Heaven, multitudes of loud, angry angels had appeared all at once.

“But Jack talked to it. And listened,” Cas continued, every inch the proud parent. “He’s going to create a new place, for when angels die – he’s calling it ‘Limbo’, after an Earth myth – and it will be… well, the closest approximation to the human mind would be something between a spa and a sensory deprivation tank. Somewhere comfortable and peaceful.”

“And the Empty let you go?” asked Sam.

Cas smiled. “Apparently, I was the most annoying angel, and it agreed I should go first. Jack will slowly – and quietly – begin moving the others when Limbo is complete.”

“He’ll be very busy, building and rebuilding,” Sam said.

“I have great faith in him,” said Cas.

“Us, too,” Sam agreed. “Right, Dean? Dean?”

“I—” Dean tried again.

Cas frowned. “Are you all right?” he asked, and reached out to touch Dean’s shoulder.

“You’re here,” Dean managed.

“Yes.”

“You’re real.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You’re…” Dean took another deep breath, regaining some composure. “You’re going back to Heaven.”

“I—” Cas began.

“We’ll let you talk,” said Sam. “Take your time.”

“ _Talk_ ,” added Eileen.

Sam squeezed Dean’s other shoulder, then held out his hand to Eileen and they headed across the street to the diner, just another couple in the crowd.

There was a moment of silence, then Cas seemed to realize that he was still touching Dean’s shoulder. He tried to step back, but Dean caught his sleeve, holding tight.

“Cas…”

“I meant what I said, Dean,” the angel said, softly. “I understand that you don’t feel the same way but that’s not important. What _is_ important is that you know that I love you.”

“But you can’t,” Dean blurted.

Cas frowned and tilted his head, that old curious-bird expression. “Why not?”

“Because you’re an Angel of the Lord, Cas. A multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent the size of the Chrysler Building and you’re millions of years old. So I get that you love Earth and humanity, but you can’t love _me_.”

Even Dean heard the revulsion in his voice on the last word, and Cas’s expression darkened. “Why not?” he repeated.

“Because angels aren’t like that!” said Dean, exasperated. “You told me yourself, you don’t really have gender and you’re indifferent to sexuality. And humans are like a lower life form, tiny and insignificant , so why would you possibly want a… a _relationship_ with the worst one?”

“Dean, you are the _best_ of humanity,” said Cas, fiercely. “All your life, you have known nothing but loss and violence, yet you have the most loving heart and the brightest soul. Everyone who has known you has been the better for it, none more so than me. If not for you, Dean, I would have been another mindless drone of Heaven. If not for you, I would never have known what family truly meant. If not for _you_ , I would never have been able to love.”

“Cas…”

“I don’t regret any of it,” the angel continued. “I meant that part of what I said, too – I am content to have this feeling and to know that you know it. I don’t need any more.”

“But you _can_ have it,” said Dean. “Me. So, if I’m what you want, I’m yours.”

“Dean…”

The hunter took a breath. “You deserve to hear it. I love you, Cas. I’m in love with you. I think I have been for a long time, but I couldn’t even admit it to myself. But we’re writing our own stories, now, and I can finally see a future that isn’t a bloody end. And that future wouldn’t be right without you.”

“Dean…”

“But I know you’ve got responsibilities in Heaven, helping Jack, and that’s much more important than—”

“ _Dean_ ,” interrupted Cas, and put his free hand over Dean’s, still clutching his sleeve. “If you truly want me to stay, nothing in any realm of existence could keep me from you. And _nothing_ is more important than you.”

“Cas, I…”

The angel squeezed his hands. “No more miscommunication, Dean. I love you. I want a relationship with you. A human romantic relationship, with kissing and intercourse. To live together and sleep together – even though I don’t sleep – and make our home together. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Dean let out a shaky laugh. “Forever, Cas. I want that, too, all of it. Even if you’re gonna call it ‘intercourse’.”

“I will have time to learn to call it something else,” said Cas.

“Time,” Dean repeated, smiling. “Never thought I’d get that. And speaking of time, it’s about time we did this…”

Cas tilted his head again, confused, until Dean took a step forward, backing them toward the side of the Impala, and leaned in to kiss him.

Dean had meant it to be a simple kiss – like Cas said, they had time now, and they were in the middle of a public street – but the moment their lips touched, it was like nothing else existed. He was so used to having Cas in his personal space that it didn’t feel like a first kiss, it felt familiar and sure. Dean felt the thump as Cas bumped into the Impala but didn’t break the kiss, letting go of Cas’s trench coat to cup his hands around the angel’s face. Cas’s arms went around Dean’s waist, tight enough to leave bruises, but Dean didn’t care.

A sudden noise jolted them apart, half-reaching for weapons before they realized it had been a car horn from the end of the street.

Cas smiled and reached for Dean’s hand again. “Perhaps we should find an alternate location.”

“Home,” Dean said, and he’d never meant that word so much before. “Let’s go home.”

He squeezed Cas’s hand and let it go, just long enough to walk around the Impala and slide into the driver’s seat, as Cas got in on the passenger side.

Dean put the key into the ignition but didn’t start the car, pausing long enough that Cas frowned at him, concerned. “It’s just… it still doesn’t feel real,” said Dean. “We beat Chuck, and Jack is God. Eileen is back, and she and Sam are together. You’re here, riding shotgun in my Baby.”

“They are very real, Dean.”

“And I’m… I’m dating an angel.”

“Hmm,” said Cas, hesitantly, and the hunter looked up at him, sharply.

“What? You _are_ still an angel, right? You didn’t do anything stupid to get the Empty to let you go or—”

“My grace is intact,” Cas interrupted, smiling. “However, with so few angels remaining in Heaven just now, Jack thought it would be best to, as he put it, ‘give me a promotion’ – I’m now an _arch_ angel.”

“Hot damn,” muttered Dean, then smiled and started the car. “How about some music?”

Cas reached into the pocket of his trench coat and pulled out a cassette tape – _Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx_. 

“You know I love you, right?” Dean asked.

“I know,” smiled Cas, and put in the tape.

*

**_Carry on, my wayward son_ **

The Bunker is quiet when they get back. They pause when they reach the corridor to the bedrooms, but Dean laughs softly and takes Cas’s hand. Cas smiles back and kisses him – then it’s all kisses and searching hands as they stumble down the hall to Dean’s door. They get stuck for a moment when Dean tries to take Cas’s trench coat off at the same time Cas is trying to get Dean out of his flannel overshirt, and they laugh as they sort themselves out.

Still kissing, they close Dean’s door behind them.

When Sam and Eileen return, hours later, she finds the shirt and trench coat in the hallway and holds them up with a knowing smirk.

“Finally,” says Sam.

“I think they have the right idea,” Eileen says, and reaches for the hem of her own shirt as she pulls Sam in the direction of his room.

**_There'll be peace when you are done_ **

Dean sets a large plate of burgers on the long library table, then takes his seat, looking around. They’re all here, his family, not just Sam and Cas, but _everyone_ – Jody and Donna and their girls, Garth and his family, Bobby, Charlie and her girlfriend, even Jack and Adam – all the people Dean cares about.

There’s a lot of people missing, and for once the guilt doesn’t weigh him down. Jack and Cas are still working to rebuild Heaven, but it’s already better than it used to be. Cas always talks about their progress when he gets back home, especially the personal interest he’s taken in the sections of Heaven for the people they’d lost.

He startles when Claire, sitting between him and Sam, puts a hand to his forehead. “Hey!”

“Just checking you’re not sick,” she grins. “Because you haven’t started eating yet.”

“Ha, ha,” he growls, but can’t quite fight a return smile as she puts a burger on his plate and Cas, on his other side, passes him a bottle of beer.

**_Lay your weary head to rest_ **

Sam is so used to Dean and Cas that he sometimes forgets they’re now _Dean-and-Cas_ , like when he goes to wake his brother for a potential case. He pushes open the door, laptop in hand – and sees a lot more naked skin than he was prepared for.

“Sammy!” yells Dean, and Sam barely ducks the pillow aimed at his head, but when Dean arrives in the kitchen in his dead guy robe, he’s smiling as he makes them all pancakes.

They can’t just stop hunting, not knowing what they know about what goes bump in the night, but the urgency is gone. They don’t feel like they’re the only ones who can save the world anymore, that they can’t afford to take days off. They spend most of their time providing support to the other hunters in other areas, but take a few cases nearby when one of them starts feeling the itch.

Cas goes over the details of their latest potential case while the others eat, and Sam pretends not to notice the way he’s holding Dean’s hand under the table.

**_Don't you cry no more_ **

Dean puts the last box into the back of Eileen’s car and turns back to his brother, “Guess this is it.”

“It’s not like I’ll never see you again,” laughs Sam. “We’re fifteen minutes down the road. Ten, the way you drive.”

“Yeah,” Dean allows. “But it won’t be the same.”

“So you’re saying you and Cas _won’t_ enjoy having the Bunker all to yourselves?”

“I believe we will enjoy it a great deal,” says Cas, then frowns. “Was that something I wasn’t supposed to say out loud?”

Dean laughs and kisses him. “Not when it bugs Sammy.”

“Bitch,” mutters Sam, and Dean replies automatically, “Jerk.”

Eileen rolls her eyes affectionately at them, as she and Sam get into the car. Dean and Cas watch until they’re out of sight, then head back into the Bunker.

**_Once I rose above the noise and confusion_ **

“Hello, Dean.”

The hunter startles, then smiles. “Hey, Cas. And you’re supposed to say _Honey, I’m home_.”

Cas tilts his head. “That cliché is based on outdated gender roles, perpetuated by unrealistic television sitcoms.”

“Only if you demand I get you a beer.”

“What if I ask nicely?”

Dean grins. “That can be arranged. How are things coming upstairs?”

“Slowly,” says Cas. “But very well. Jack is… well, he’s nothing like Chuck. He’s building a Heaven _for_ the souls that reside there.”

“He’s a good kid,” Dean agrees. “Tell him he’d better come to dinner this week, though. God or not, he’s family.”

Cas smiles. “I’ll tell him.”

**_Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion_ **

“Yes, yes,” says Dean, into the phone. “Agent Tolstoy is one of our best, a credit to the Bureau. Yes, that’s right. No, she wouldn’t dream of stepping on your investigation, your sheriffs would get the collar. But Agent Tolstoy will be a valuable resource. No, thank _you_.”

Dean hangs up, muttering to himself about hunters who choose literary names as their aliases.

The phone bank has come a long way since it lived in the real Bobby’s kitchen. They’re still landlines with handsets, but they’ve all got caller-ID now and a little cubby underneath for a log book, so whoever answers can stick to the same story. Charlie also set them up an automated receptionist-system to put callers on hold until a real person could answer, and an alert system for the Bunker’s living quarters to let those real people know there’s a call.

These days, it’s usually Dean who answers. He’s gotten to be a pretty good actor – smooth-talking local LEOs and reassuring rookie hunters.

Another of the phones rings and Dean picks it up. “CIA, this is Agent Young. Garth, what are you doing calling the official line? Yeah, I’ve been manning the phones all day. You’re hunting a what? Let me – Oh, here’s Cas, he’ll know.”

Cas arches an eyebrow as he leans in the phone bank doorway, holding a cup of coffee. He passes Dean the mug and takes the phone he holds out with a brief kiss, “Hello, Garth…”

Dean sips his coffee, smiling – until the phone labeled ‘CDC’ starts ringing.

**_I was soaring ever higher_ **

There’s so much noise in the Bunker that at first, no one hears the knocking.

It’s Christmas Eve and the place is full – of people and laughter and the holiday songs Charlie’s somehow patched into the PA system. Cas is telling a story about the real nativity to Garth and his oldest, Gertie, while Claire and Kaia chase his twins around the Christmas tree. Dean nearly gets run over coming back from the kitchen with another pitcher of egg nog – _not_ spiked, thank you very much, not that Rowena hasn’t tried – but it’s worth it to see Claire giggling as loud as the toddlers. Sam is sitting at the war table holding the newest member of their found family, baby Garth Fitzgerald V, while Eileen watches with a speculative look on her face. Jody and Donna are swapping sheriff stories and on the other side of the table, Alex and Patience are showing Jack how to play some kind of card game.

The knock comes again, louder this time, and the group of seasoned hunters are instantly alert. But Cas only grins, bounding up the spiral stairs to throw open the door for… Santa?

“Ho, ho, ho!” he says, and meets the excited Fitzgerald kids at the bottom of the stairs. “See what Santa brought you.”

Cas is right behind him, still grinning. “It’s okay, it’s—”

Once the kids are distracted by the wrapped presents he pulls from his theatrically-large sack, ‘Santa’ suddenly shifts, revealing a familiar face.

“Gabriel,” says Sam, shocked, and there’s a round of hugs for the newly-risen angel.

He ends with Jack, leaving an arm around his nephew’s shoulders. “I just finished refueling in Heaven,” Gabriel tells them. “Jack figured he’d bring me back from the Empty first, so I could help out with the refit. Two archangels are better than one, right, Cassie?”

“As if you’re ever helpful,” Cas jokes.

**_But I flew too high_ **

Sam and Eileen get married in their backyard. They ask Jack to officiate, in his authority as, well, _God_ , and he agrees enthusiastically.

Cas puts himself in charge of decorations, using his Grace to coax flowers into garlands along the white picket fence and reigning in Gabriel’s design of the gazebo he creates for the ceremony. 

Dean pulls a prank on Sam for his bachelor party, parking the Impala in the lot of the tackiest strip joint he’s ever seen – before leading them around the corner of the block to a restaurant that serves local beer and veggie burgers.

A little divine intervention means the day of the wedding is clear and sunny. Eileen looks beautiful in her dress and Sam looks handsome in his suit, and they look even better together. They opt for a simple ceremony, in sign language as well as spoken out loud, and when Jack pronounces them husband and wife, everyone throws environmentally-friendly bird seed at the happy couple.

They dance into the night, talking and laughing, until Sam and Eileen have been seen off to their honeymoon, and only Dean and Cas are left. The music’s been turned off, but Dean pulls Cas into a slow dance under the stars.

“Marry me?” he asks, softly, and Cas kisses him a yes.

Jack officiates for them, too, a quiet ceremony with only Sam and Claire as their witnesses. Dean gives Cas a ring that had been his mother’s – resized by a surprisingly helpful Gabriel. The one Cas slides on his finger in return thrums with the imbued grace of angel blade metal, and Dean never takes it off.

**_Though my eyes could see, I still was a blind man_ **

When Eileen announces that she’s pregnant, Sam freaks out a little. He starts babyproofing the house immediately, then reads every pregnancy book he can find. Eileen takes it all with good humor until he goes a little overboard with the healthy menus and she retreats to the Bunker to raid their junk food cabinet.

Dean isn’t much better, so Eileen takes Cas with her to her pre-natal appointments. He can feel the baby with his Grace, so he amuses her by arguing with the doctors and annoys Dean by refusing to divulge the baby’s gender.

Two separate cases of false contractions hone their response time, so that when the real thing starts, they get to the hospital in record time. The doctors are amazed at how little pain Eileen seems to be experiencing – but, then, they don’t know that the person holding her hand is an Archangel of the Lord. 

Finally, there’s the wail of a newborn baby and a blanket-wrapped bundle is placed into Eileen’s arms.

“A girl,” says Cas, releasing her hand to sign the same to her. “Does she have a name?”

“Deanna,” says Sam, smiling at his brother. “Deanna Mary Winchester.”

“A good name.” 

None of the doctors react to Jack appearing suddenly in the delivery room and walking over to press a kiss to baby Deanna’s forehead. The kiss glows faintly for a moment after he straightens again, but he smiles at the questioning faces around him.

“It’s just a blessing,” says Jack. “Nothing powerful, only a little protection, a little luck. Winchesters seem to need it.”

**_Though my mind could think, I still was a mad man_ **

“Wouldn’t this go faster if we were _both_ digging?”

The kid’s name is Phyllis Rivera, young and angry like Dean used to be, and he smiles at her in a way that he knows is infuriating.

“Then how will you learn?”

She scowls, but keeps going. 

Dean’s phone rings and he digs it out, leaning against the gravestone to drawl, “Hey, Sammy.”

“ _Do you know where the minutes from July, Nineteen-Thirty-Two are?_ ”

“Repeat that sentence to yourself.”

Sam laughs. “ _Yeah, okay._ ”

“What do you need that for anyway?” Dean asks, then puts the phone against his shoulder to say, “Almost there, kid.”

Phyllis flips him off, and Sam says, “ _I just… since Deanna was born, I guess I’ve been thinking more about the future. Legacy. We just sort of declared ourselves Men of Letters and took over the Bunker, but there should be some kind of ceremony, don’t you think?_ ”

“I… I never thought about it,” Dean admits. “But that’s a great idea. Make it all official, you know?”

“ _Great. I’ll write something up for you to look over when you get back – and don’t give me that crap that you just have a GED, Mr. I-Read-Vonnegut-for-Fun_.”

“Okay, fine, I’ll look at your nerd ceremony.”

“ _Great_ ,” Sam repeats. “ _Hey, how’s Phyllis doing?_ ”

“She’s—” Dean breaks off as her shovel hits the lid of the coffin. “She’s a great digger. Got to go, Sammy, talk to you later.”

“ _It’s Sam_ ,” he hears, as the call ends.

Dean smiles at Phyllis. “You’re almost there, kid.”

“You said that ten minutes ago,” she grumbles, but clears more dirt from the grave until she can pry the lid open. “Ew.”

“What, this?” says Dean. “Nah, this guy’s been dead for _decades_. It’s the fresh ones that are icky.”

“ _Ew_ ,” she repeats. “You got the salt, old man?”

Dean arches an eyebrow, mock offended, and passes her the container. She’s got a good arm, spreading the salt evenly over the bones, and he helps her out of the grave before dropping a lighter into the coffin.

As the flames flare and die back, Cas appears beside him, well within Dean’s personal space.

“Hello, Dean. Phyllis, I see you were successful in your grave robbing.”

“Would have gone faster if _somebody_ helped dig.”

“Yeah?” asks Dean. “Would’ve gone slower if Cas hadn’t held the ghost from attacking you while you worked.”

Phyllis freezes. “Wait, they do that?”

**_I hear the voices when I'm dreaming_ **

For all that he’s been a father for almost three years, Sam still freaks out a little when Eileen tells him she’s pregnant again. 

The parenting books that Sam is still ravenously reading make him worried that Deanna might be jealous of a new baby, but she’s fascinated by the idea. She asks endless questions, sitting in Sam’s lap as he reads and pointing out the words she’s already learned, until it registers that her Uncle Dean is actually her dad’s _big brother_.

Dean had already been Deanna’s favorite person, but now they’re really two peas in a pod. He comes by to watch her so Sam can go with Eileen to her doctor’s appointments, this time, and Deanna never gets tired of hearing about when he and Sam were little.

The stories have to be edited, of course, because there’s no way he’s explaining to those adoring little green eyes that the reason he’d learned how to make _mac n’ cheese surprise_ and _Winchester stew_ was because John had left them alone for weeks at a time without enough money for food. Deanna’s small enough not to ask questions, but some of that must still show on his face after he’s put her to bed, because Sam catches his arm before he can put his coat on.

“You okay?” his brother asks.

Dean lets out a long breath. “You’re a good father, Sam,” he says, seriously. “You know that, right?”

Sam smiles, “I had a good role model,” and lets his brother escape the chick flick moment.

Dean and Cas are both at their house for a visit when Eileen’s water breaks. For once, Sam is glad for his brother’s fast driving, as they all pile into the Impala and head for the hospital. Dean and Deanna stay in the waiting room, but it’s only a few hours before Cas joins them to announce that it’s a boy.

“A brother?” asks Deanna, from Dean’s hip, when they go into the room.

Eileen smiles. “Robert Castiel Winchester.”

“We’re gonna call him Robbie,” adds Sam.

“A good name.”

No one is surprised to see Jack this time. He presses a protective kiss to Robbie’s forehead, which glows briefly.

There’s a moment of silence, until Deanna squeals, “Jack!” and nearly tips herself out of Dean’s arms trying to hug him. “Guess what?”

Jack takes her, accepting the hug. “What?” he asks.

“I’m a big sister!”

Everyone smiles at that. “Yes, you are.”

**_I can hear them say_ **

Dean half-wakes to the vibration of his phone on the bedside table, but before he can muster the energy to reach for it, Cas’s voice above him says, “This is Dean’s phone.”

He can’t quite hear the voice on the other end, but Cas continues, “Yes, this is the correct number. My name is Castiel. I see. Yes, of course. Where are you? Please park your vehicle in the nearest safe location and wait. I will join you and provide directions. You’re welcome.”

“Wha’zzat?” mumbles Dean, a little more awake.

Cas slides out of bed – he doesn’t need to sleep, but enjoys lying with Dean at night – and dresses in a flash of Grace. “A new hunter. Sent by Berit,” at Dean’s confused look, he adds, “Berit Langdon, he works at the Canadian border. He got your number from Jody.”

“Okay,” Dean says, slowly.

“Berit has sent the new hunter to us, so that we can offer him shelter and ease him into knowledge of the supernatural. I’ve said I’ll meet him and direct him here.”

“Okay,” repeats Dean. “I’ll—” He huffs out a laugh as Cas vanishes. “I’ll get dressed _without_ mojo and go start the coffee.”

Cas is back within the hour, letting himself back into the Bunker with his key. With him is a man in his early thirties, wearing a torn coat and a shocked expression. Dean settles him at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee.

Terry Kane had been a teaching assistant, once, until the professor he’d been working for had been killed. Terry had managed to kill the lone vampire pretty much by accident before it could kill him, too, and of course nobody believed him. But he knew about the things that went bump in the night and he couldn’t ignore it. He bumbled his way through a few more hunts, mostly by luck, until he’d met Berit.

“I just don’t think I’m cut out for this,” says Terry, as Dean pours him another cup of coffee. “I tried to learn, but…”

“It’s not for everyone,” says Dean, sympathetically. 

“What was your area of study?” asks Cas.

“Uh, history,” Terry says. “Specifying in Ancient Mythologies.”

Dean and Cas share a knowing look, and Dean says, “Sam is gonna love you. He’ll tell you all about a thing called the Men of Letters. Here, I’ll call him.”

Cas frowns. “Dean, it’s four in the morning.”

“I know,” says Dean, and makes the call. “Good morning, Sammy…!”

**_Carry on, my wayward son_ **

When Chuck dies, there’s a small _ping_ on the Men of Letters alert system.

They’ve got a whole team of computer experts, now, and the system categorizes alerts based on a dozen different factors, but the death of a single human who used to be God apparently doesn’t rate that high.

It’s a small funeral. Sam and Dean slip into the mortuary home just as it’s beginning, standing along the back wall as the first speaker gets up.

The human being who used to be God had apparently done all right for himself. If Dean was honest, he’d have expected Chuck to have drunk himself to death not long after Jack had stolen his mojo, but he’d pulled himself together and made a human life. 

A couple of people talk – a neighbor, a coworker – nothing exciting, but they seem genuine. As the funeral director says a word of closing, Dean spots a familiar face lurking by the other open doorway.

Becky Rosen smiles, unselfconscious, but Sam still hangs back to walk behind his brother as they cross to her.

“Hey,” Dean says, a little warily. 

It’s been a long time since she was a creepy fangirl and they were her favorite characters, and she looks different – not just older but more mature, more sure of herself.

“Hey,” says Becky. “I kinda figured I’d see you guys here.”

“You did?” asks Dean. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Did you know Chuck came to see me? When… when he was still God. Zapped my husband and kids right out of existence. Then me, too, I guess. The next thing I knew, everyone was back, and they didn’t remember a thing. But I had this voice mail message on my phone from a kid named Jack, telling me that Chuck was human, now, and everything would be okay. Said he was your kid.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, proudly. “He took Chuck’s powers, and put everything back the way it should be.”

“So _he’s_ writing the story now?”

“No,” says Sam. “Jack just set things right, then stepped back.”

At the front of the room, the funeral director and his assistant begin shutting the coffin, getting it ready to move.

“I still run the _Supernatural_ fan forums,” says Becky. When the brothers look questioningly at her, she adds, “That’s how I knew about the funeral. There were some people who found Chuck – they didn’t know he was God, of course, just an author they liked – and they posted about it. And I… honestly, I have no idea how I feel about this.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. 

“But I kinda needed to see it for myself,” she continues, looking over at the coffin. “Chuck… he was _God_. I know you explained what happened, how everything’s different, but this just makes it feel so real. And I have to wonder… does a human who used to be god get into Heaven?”

“No, Limbo,” says Dean, easily. When Becky just stares at him, he adds, “Right, sorry. Jack added another… realm, I guess. Limbo is neutral and anybody who goes there stays asleep for eternity. He said Chuck would end up there.”

“Jack,” says Becky, slowly. “The new God, who’s also your son.”

Sam smiles. “He’s a good kid.”

“And I was proud when mine made honor roll,” she says faintly.

At the front of the room, the funeral home director brings the service to an end and directs people to pay their last respects.

“We should let you…” Sam begins, but Becky shakes her head.

“I’m good. And it was good to see you both.”

“You, too,” says Sam, and means it. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card. “There’s an organization called the Men of Letters. It’s – well, it’s a long story, but we do research. Support for hunters and victims of the supernatural. We could use people like you.”

Becky takes it. “I’ll think about it.”

“Take care,” Dean tells her, and she hugs them briefly before they leave.

**_There'll be peace when you are done_ **

Cas hears Eileen’s prayer and takes Dean’s arm, transporting them both to Sam’s house. He knows how much Dean still dislikes ‘angel air’, but that he’d be much more upset at being left behind for an emergency at his brother’s house.

To prove his point, Dean gets only a couple of words into yelling at Cas when he spots five-year-old Deanna, sobbing in Sam’s arms, and shifts gears immediately, “What happened?”

Deanna starts to reach for him but lets out a yelp and pulls her left arm to her chest. “H-hurts, Uncle D-Dean,” she sobs, and he takes her gently from her father.

“She jumped off the garage roof,” says Sam, and he sounds like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry along with her. “Broke her arm.”

“I should have called 911, but all I could think was to pray,” Eileen adds, joining them. She’s got almost two-year-old Robbie in her arms, who’s looking a little upset at his sister’s tears.

Cas smiles. “You did the right thing. Please hold still, Deanna.”

She doesn’t stop crying, but she does hold still, pressing her face against Dean’s shoulder. Cas rests a hand on Deanna’s broken arm and the glow of his Grace flickers over her skin. Deanna’s sobs hiccup to a surprised halt and she beams up at him. “Uncle Cas, you fixed me! It doesn’t hurt at all!”

“Yeah, he’s awesome like that,” Dean agrees. She wiggles and he sets her down so she can throw her arms around Cas’s legs in a grateful hig. “But we’re gonna talk about this jumping off the roof business.”

“I’m Wonder Woman,” she tells him. “She can fly.”

“Wonder Woman is an Amazon warrior from Themyscira,” says Cas – his pop culture knowledge has gotten much better over the years. “Also, she is a fictional character. You are a real human child, Deanna, and you must be more careful.”

“I’ll try, Uncle Cas,” she says, solemnly.

He smiles. “That’s the best that can be expected from a Winchester.”

“Hey,” protests Dean, smiling. “You’re one of us now, you know.”

Cas leans in to kiss him, “I know.”

“Ew,” says Deanna.

Dean laughs and scoops her up again. “I bet you’re hungry after a healing like that. We should get some ice cream.”

“Ice cream!” echoes Robbie.

Eileen arches an eyebrow at him, but he only grins, and she sighs. “Ice cream,” she agrees.

As they head inside, Sam catches Cas’s arm. “Thanks,” he says, softly. “I’ve seen so much worse – I’ve _had_ so much worse – but when it’s my kid…”

“That’s the trouble with parenting,” Cas says knowingly, and Sam laughs.

“Yeah, and this one’s not even God.”

“Daddy! Uncle Cas!” calls Deanna from the open doorway. “Come on.”

“We’re coming,” says Cas.

**_Lay your weary head to rest_ **

“Hey, Jack,” says Sam, looking up from his book when he appears suddenly – they’ve all gotten used to it over the years. “What’s up?”

To his surprise, the young deity flops into a chair across the table. “I don’t know.”

Sam straightens, worried. “What? I thought you knew everything now.”

Jack smiles. “Not exactly. I know a lot, but not _everything_.”

“Oh, okay. Well, can we help?”

“I don’t know,” Jack repeats. “But I know you’ll try, and maybe that will be enough.”

“Enough for what?” asks Sam, but before Jack can answer, there are footsteps on in the hall.

“Coffee break, Sammy,” says Dean, eyes on the loaded tray he’s carrying. He sets it on the table before he realizes his brother isn’t alone. “Jack,” he grins, “Hey, Cas, our son is home!”

“I see,” says Cas, and hugs Jack before sitting beside him. “You’ve been busy, we’ve hardly seen you.”

Jack sighs. “I have been busy. I thought that I had figured out what my grandfather did wrong – writing an ending ahead of time and then leaving the universe to fend for itself. But being in charge of the universe is a lot of work and the angels…”

“They look to you as a supreme being,” Cas finishes.

“I can give them Free Will,” says Jack, “but I can’t make them understand it.”

“Do they need to?” Sam asks. “I mean, Cas learned how to have Free Will without officially having it, so I’m sure they’ll get used to it.”

Jack nods. “Perhaps. But I… People on earth are still praying. And I don’t want to directly interfere the way Chuck did, but I don’t think I can just ignore them, either. But which prayers to answer? Which miracles to grant? The loudest? The most worthy? How to I decide that?”

“Hey,” says Dean. “You’ll figure it out, kid. You’ve been doing great at this god thing so far.”

“Thanks, “ Jack says, managing a smile. “But I want to do better.”

“And that’s exactly why you’re doing great,” says Cas.

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t _want_ to decide which prayers to answer. Not alone. I was thinking instead it could be some kind of committee. Now that all souls’ Heavens are connected, I could ask some of them to help.”

“Like holy jury duty?” asks Dean.

“Maybe,” smiles Jack, then continues, “I’d like to include the angels in the decision as well, but as I said, they’re having trouble with Free Will.”

“Are any of them closer to understanding?” asks Sam.

Jack considers. “Besides Castiel, I would say Anna. And Gabriel, but he might have _too_ good of an understanding.”

“Anna and I have been human,” points out Cas. “And Gabriel is perhaps not the best role model.”

“No,” Jack agrees. 

“So, let ‘em be human,” says Dean.

The others all turn to look at him, and he continues, “Like a foreign exchange program. Send a few angels at a time, let ‘em hang out with us humans, and they’ll get the idea.”

Sam frowns. “But what about finding them vessels?”

“Don’t have to,” his brother says. “Gabriel made his own, right? They can start their exercise in Free Will by choosing their own meat suits.”

“That’s…” Jack blinks. “That’s brilliant, Dean.”

He snorts. “I have my moments.”

Cas smiles at him across the table. “Many of them.”

“I knew I was right to come to you,” says Jack, smiling, too. “Would it be okay if I started by sending a few angels to stay here?”

“Sure, kid,” says Dean, but he’s slightly less enthusiastic about the idea when he wakes up the next morning to find three curious angels sitting at the kitchen table, watching Cas explain how to make toast.

**_Don't you cry no more_ **

“I don’t want to talk about it,” says Claire, shouldering past Dean into the Bunker.

He snorts, “We’re gonna not be talking about it for a while, judging by the size of that bag.”

She drops her duffel on the map table. “My room still here?”

“Always,” says Cas, coming in from the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Dean is making burgers, and you should eat something before you head back out on that hunt.”

Claire scowls. “There isn’t a hunt and I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean and Cas share a look, and Dean says, “Okay.”

“Okay?” she repeats, suspicious.

“Sure,” Dean shrugs. “Take your stuff to your room and wash up for dinner.”

“You can set the table,” Cas adds.

Claire keeps scowling for a moment, then sighs. “You guys suck.”

“What?” says Dean, all fake innocence. “We’re just making dinner.”

“We’re fighting, okay?” Claire tells them. “Kaia and I had a fight and I said some stupid things and she’s mad at me and _I’m_ mad at me and I had to get out of the house.”

Claire keeps glancing at her phone all through dinner, but it never makes a sound. Dean and Cas try to keep her distracted with other subjects, but when it’s past time for the humans among them to be asleep, there’s still no word.

“I’ll call her in the morning,” Dean promises, because he’s a pushover like that. “Won’t mention that you’re here, I’ll just check that she’s okay.”

“Thanks,” Claire says, and goes to bed.

They’re all woken a few hours later by the Bunker doorbell and when Dean, wearing his dead guy robe and an annoyed expression, opens the door, he finds Kaia, sheepishly holding her own duffel.

Dean steps back to let her in, just as Claire comes out from the hallway. “Kaia.”

The other woman drops her bag and races down the stairs, to throw her arms around Claire. “I’m sorry,” she says. “You were wrong and I’m still mad, but I can’t sleep without you anymore.”

“And you had to tell her this at two AM?” grumbles Dean, coming down after Kaia, carrying her duffel.

Cas catches his free hand and tugs him close. “Such important things shouldn’t wait, don’t you think?”

Dean leans into him, smiling wryly. “I guess not,” he agrees.

“You guys are such saps,” snorts Claire.

“Takes one to know one,” Dean replies, and she doesn’t argue.

_**Masquerading as a man with a reason** _

“ _You know where I can get watercress?_ ” asks Dean, when Sam picks up the phone.

Sam frowns, even though his brother can’t see him. “What the hell are you hunting that you need _watercress_?”

“ _It’s not for hunting, it’s for sandwiches._ ”

“Sandwiches?”

“ _Yes, tiny fancy ones. So?_

“What do you need tiny fancy sandwiches for?”

“ _What is this, twenty questions?_ ” Dean grumbles. “ _I thought you were the cultured one, Sammy. Watercress sandwiches are apparently an_ essential _part of a proper afternoon tea._ ”

“Right,” says Sam. “Afternoon tea.”

“ _And you can bet the Queen of Hell is gonna be particular._ ”

“You’re making tea for Rowena?”

“ _No_ ,” says Dean. “ _Well, yeah, but not_ for _her. She’s having a meeting with Jack, some kind of Heaven-and-Hell UN thing, and he asked if they could have it here. Neutral ground for both of them, you know? But Jack wants to get Rowena onboard with some scheme to let demons do good deeds on earth and earn their way into Heaven and—_ ”

“Wait, what?” says Sam.

“ _Look, dude, I don’t know. But Jack sounds all eager about it, so if I can help by making tiny fancy sandwiches…_ ”

Sam doesn’t even try to keep the smile from his voice. “You are such a sap, Dean.”

“ _I am helping to maintain interdimensional relations_ ,” his brother says, loftily, then, “ _C’mon, Sammy, you’re into all that rabbit food. You gotta know a place._ ”

“There’s an organic grocery near here, I’ll text you the address.”

“ _Thanks, Sam_.” There’s a beep in the background on his end. “ _Hey, gotta go, that’s my scones._ ”

“I—” begins Sam, but Dean has already hung up. He huffs a laugh and mutters, “Our lives are so weird.”

**_My charade is the event of the season_ **

Dean calls it Hunter Camp.

There had been a lot of debate after Deanna and Robbie were born about when and how much to tell the kids about the supernatural – discussion, not argument, because flat-out denial wasn’t an option when their uncle was an angel and their older brother was god – and they’d eventually come up with the solution.

The first year, there are an even dozen – two Winchesters, four Fitzgeralds and six other kids from Garth’s pack – who stay at the Bunker for the whole month of July. Dean remembers the way _he_ learned about hunting, and there’s no way he’s letting these kids go through anything like that.

Instead, he sets it up like the summer camps he’s seen in movies, with lessons and activities and games. There’s two rooms full of bunk beds, like cabins, one for the boys and one for the girls, and Charlie sends them matching t-shirts, which the kids love. Claire shows up halfway through the first week, grumbling and complaining, but she’s got nothing but patience for the kids.

Dean starts with lore, telling it like scary stories around the campfire on the first night the kids arrive. He makes it a game, too, having them shout out answers and ideas. Garth’s oldest, Gertie, wins the prize for the best devil’s trap in Arts & Crafts, and Deanna gets one for being fastest in the foot races. They use butter knives to start learning about blade work and Sam Fitzgerald gets the prize for that, while his twin wins one for Enochian warding – Dean keeps careful track of who’s won what, so that by the end of the month, they’ve all been awarded the same number of candy bars and trinkets.

It’s not even Christmas before the kids all start asking if they’ll do it again the next year, so Dean really has no choice but to organize it again, not that he’s at all against the idea. There are three more kids and several more ‘councilors’.

Castiel asks Gabriel to teach archery – with two archangels, it seems safe to give even the small kids real arrows. Rowena appears in a theatrical display of hellfire to make the children ‘proper tea’ and answers all their questions about demons. Charlie stays for a week for basic computer hacking lessons – only to be used for the greater good, she insists they remember – and Jody leads then in role-playing at federal agents, alternating between her ‘Sheriff Mills’ and ‘Aunt Jody’ modes. Even Amara pops by, to tell the kids stories about the beginnings of humanity and give fashion tips.

After that, it’s tradition, and Dean looks forward to it as much as the kids. Gertie is the first to be too old, and she’s devastated for a whole week before Dean realizes it and asks her to come back as his assistant.

Claire complains all through every summer, but she comes back to help every year.

_**And if I claim to be a wise man, well** _

“You okay?” asks Eileen.

Sam stops digging so he can sign and say, “It’s been a while since I’ve dug a grave. And never a new one. How’s Robbie?”

“Hurt but brave,” she says. “Like a Winchester man. Dean and Cas got here a few minutes ago, they’re helping him with everything.”

“Good. By the time you go get everyone out here, I’ll be ready.”

Where he’s leaning over the shovel, he’s the right height for Eileen to lean over and kiss his temple. “Be right back.”

A moment later, a group comes out of the house – Eileen leading the way, Dean carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle with Cas at his side, five-year-old Robbie looking near tears with Deanna’s arm around his shoulders.

Dean looks at Sam, who nods, and he sets the bundle into the small grave. Cas stands at the edge, looking solemn. “If I may?”

“Uh, sure,” says Sam.

Cas nods, then says, still solemn, “Rocky was a good dog. He was a good companion and a treasured friend. He will be missed.”

“Amen,” says Jack, suddenly, from behind them.

Robbie pushes away from his sister to throw himself in his brother’s arms. “Rocky’s dead, Jack!”

“I know,” he replies. “That’s why I’m here.”

The boy pulls away again. “You are? Then you’ll bring him back?”

“Robbie…” says Sam, warily.

Jack smiles, then crouches to say, gentle but serious, “I can’t do that. Life is made up of meetings and partings, Robbie, and Rocky lived a good long life. It’s only that dogs don’t live as long as humans, so this parting was earlier than you expected. But it isn’t really goodbye – Rocky’s soul is in Heaven, and you will meet him again one day?”

“He is?” says Robbie and Dean at the same time. 

Dean ducks his head and says. “C’mon, _All Dogs Go to Heaven_?”

“I don’t understand that reference,” says Cas, frowning.

Jack frowns, too. “When I rearranged Heaven, the area set aside for animals _was_ left separate, but now pets can choose to visit their former families.”

“But that’ll be in a long time from now,” says Robbie. “And I miss Rocky.”

“Hopefully, a _very_ long time,” Eileen adds.

Jack smiles. “Maybe there’s something I can do to help.”

He stands and holds a hand over the grave, and several objects appear around the small body. 

“These are flower bulbs,” Jack explains. “In the spring, they will grow. And when you see the flowers, you can think of Rocky and remember the fun you had together.”

Robbie hugs him again. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Of course. And perhaps it would be appropriate to help your father cover them.”

“Okay,” the boy agrees.

After he’s out of earshot, Dean asks, “Did you quote _The Muppet Christmas Carol_.”

“It’s one of humanity’s greatest achievements,” says Jack.

Dean laughs. “Yeah, it is.”

**_It surely means that I don't know_ **

“And who’s this?” asks Dean, when a sullen-looking teenager follows Claire and Kaia into the Bunker.

“Liam,” the kid mutters.

Dean, who had been hugging Claire hello, frowns. “The same Liam who answered the phone when I called three weeks ago?”

“That’s the one,” agrees Kaia, and Claire adds, “We picked him up on that Vampire hunt back in August.”

“That was a year ago,” says Dean. “You’ve been hiding him all this time?”

Claire snorts. “You don’t get to know all our business, old man.”

“Why do you make it sound like you took me in like a stray kitten?” grumbles Liam.

“We kinda did,” Kaia tells him. 

“I mean, we fed you that one time, and you kept coming back,” Claire adds, teasing, and he ducks his head to hide a smile.

Dean sees it, and smiles, too. “Well, any kid of yours is a kid of ours.”

“I don’t believe that’s exactly how it works, Dean,” says Cas, joining them, and adds, “But you’re welcome, of course, Liam.”

“ _I’m_ surprised you’ve just got the one,” Dean continues, as he leads them all back down the stairs. “I’d’ve thought you’d have passel of wayward kids by now.”

_Wayward?_ Claire mouths to Kaia, while the boys aren’t looking, and they both giggle.

But the joke’s on them, because the next time they stop by, only three months later, they’ve picked up an angry teenager and her nerdy pre-teen brother, and Dean doesn’t bother to hid his smug grin.

_**On a stormy sea of moving emotion** _

“You sure you’re up for this?” asks Sam, stowing his duffel in the back of the Impala and sliding into the passenger seat.

Dean scowls. “If you’re gonna make ‘old man’ jokes, you can get out now.”

“I mean, when was the last time you actually went on a hunt?”

“I helped Garth with that Wendigo last year.”

“ _Last year_ ,” Sam repeats, pointedly.

“I’ve been busy,” says Dean, pulling out onto the road. “ _Somebody_ restarted the Men of Letters, then ditched me for the suburbs.”

“That’s not the way I remember it,” his brother protests.

“Well, that’s because you’re old, Sammy.”

“Oh, _you_ can make ‘old man’ jokes?”

Dean grins. “ _I_ don’t have a kid hitting double-digits this year. She’ll be graduating college before you know it.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, then adds more seriously, “I thought about giving this up for good when Deanna was born. And when Robbie was born. But Eileen and I were both born hunters. We can step back, focus on the kids, but we can’t just ignore what’s out there. Taking a hunt here and there, helping run the Men of Letters… I think I’ve finally found the right balance. And it’s okay if your balance is different. If anyone deserves to retire from hunting, it’s you, Dean.”

“Isn’t there a rule that you have to give me beer if we’re gonna discuss serious crap?”

“Dean…”

“Fine, fine,” his brother relents. He’s quiet for a moment, distracted by merging the Impala onto the highway, then says, “I thought hunting was all I was ever gonna have. And I get what you mean, about not ignoring what’s out there. But… yeah, if I never went on another hunt, that’d be fine with me.”

“Dean,” says Sam again, concerned. “I could have asked someone else to come with me this time.”

“What? Nah, Sammy, I’ll always back you up if you need me.”

“Dean…”

“If I didn’t want to come, I would’ve said so,” Dean tells him, firmly. “Besides, it _is_ kinda nice – just the two of us, taking Baby out to hunt things, save people.”

“The family business,” finishes Sam, smiling again. “Yeah.”

“Great. And now we’re done with the touchy-feely crap, you can grab me a Zep album from the box.”

“The box…” Sam fishes under his seat for a familiar cardboard box. “Still with the cassette tapes? Really?”

“Driver picks the music,” Dean grins, and Sam puts in the tape.

_**Tossed about, I'm like a ship on the ocean** _

Robbie is sitting on a bench outside the office when Sam and Eileen get finished talking to the principal. 

He’s in the sixth grade, but still so short his feet almost don’t touch the floor. Eileen’s sure he’ll hit his growth spurt soon and Sam hopes she’s right. Now, Robbie looks even younger, watching his parents walk down the hallway toward him.

“I know I’m in trouble,” he says, before they can say anything, signing along out of habit, “but I’m not sorry. Helping people is our family business, and I couldn’t let that bully beat up Cyril. I tried to talk to him first, but it didn’t work, and when he hit me, I hit back until he stopped. I know fighting—” _Humans_ , he doesn’t say, but his parents hear “—isn’t what we do, exactly, but you taught me how to defend myself and there was no way I couldn’t defend someone else who needed it.”

There’s a moment of silence after that speech, Robbie standing there defiantly, until Eileen steps forward to hug him, “You did the right thing.”

“I – what?” Robbie asks.

Sam smiles. “Sometimes, doing the right thing means breaking the rules. It was good you stood up for someone else. And you tried to do it without a fight, first, that’s even better.”

“So you’re not mad?”

“We’re very proud of you,” Eileen tells him.

Robbie smiles back. “Then I’m not in trouble?”

“Oh, you’re definitely in trouble,” says his father. “Your principal is sending you home for the rest of today, and you’ve got detention for the rest of the week.”

“That’s only two days,” he says, sounding cautiously hopeful.

“Just because you did the right thing doesn’t mean you get out of the consequences,” Eileen tells him.

“But we might stop for ice cream on the way home,” Sam adds. 

Robbie grins, “Awesome,” then tries and fails to sound serious, “I mean, I won’t do it again?”

His mother puts an arm around him. “You would. And that’s a good thing.”

_**I set a course for winds of fortune** _

“Dean.”

The voice is coming from far away, and Dean ignores it.

“ _Dean_.”

He recognizes the voice, it’s Cas, but he’s still trying to sleep.

“Dean, you must wake up, or I won’t be able to keep my promise.”

At that, he makes an effort toward consciousness. “What? Cas? What promise?”

His husband is beside their bed rather than in it, dressed and wearing his trench coat. “Dean,” he says again. “I promised I would never leave you without telling you. I have written a note, in case you’re not awake enough to remember, but I know you are fond of goodbye kisses.”

“Not as fond as I am of _hello_ kisses,” says Dean, sitting up, then frowns. “Wait, where are you going?”

“Jack requires my help. Now that everything is stable in Heaven, we are going to Purgatory.”

“What?” Dean tries to scramble out of bed so fast he tangles his feet in the bedspread and would have fallen if Cas didn’t catch him. “Like hell, Cas!”

“This isn’t at all like last time,” his husband says, soothingly. “Jack has God’s power now, and I have no intention of staying. But there is work to be done.”

“Like what?” snorts Dean, still untangling himself.

“Souls that deserve peace,” Cas says, simply. 

“What?” Dean repeats.

“Purgatory was not designed with a guardian, like Heaven or Hell or even the Empty. Once a soul is – I don’t wish to use the word ‘tainted’ – by the supernatural, they are destined for Purgatory, without regard to their life on earth. Given the changes we’ve made to Heaven, that doesn’t seem fair.”

“No,” agrees Dean, then frowns. “Wait, you’re going to re-sort the souls in Purgatory? You mean people like Benny would have a shot of going to Heaven?”

“And the Fitzgeralds,” adds Cas. “And, I imagine, countless other unfortunates who did the best with a bad hand. Honestly, I’m ashamed that I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“Hey, this isn’t your fault. And you’re doing something about it now, right?”

Cas nods. “Yes. Jack and I plan to change how entrance to Purgatory works.”

“How?” asks Dean.

Cas hesitates. “It is somewhat complicated. The human brain was not designed to comprehend that level of quantum physics.”

“Good thing you love me for my body, then,” teases Dean.

“Among other things,” the angel says, sharing his smile, then adds more seriously, “But suffice to say, it will take a great deal of power and concentration. I’ll be gone at least a few days, perhaps a week or more.”

“Hey,” Dean says, softly. He moves to the edge of the bed so he can take Cas’s hands in his own. “I thought we got over this. I know you’ll come back to me.”

“Always,” Cas promises.

“Will it distract you too much if I pray while your gone?” asks Dean. “At least to say ‘good night’.”

Cas smiles and shakes his head. “Of course not.”

“Awesome.” Dean tries to smile back, but interrupts himself with a wide yawn. “Sorry.”

“Get some sleep, Dean,” says Cas, and leans in to kiss him, lingering and familiar “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” says Dean. “Say ‘hi’ to Benny for me.”

“I shall,” says Cas, and Dean is asleep again by the time the rustle of wings announces his departure.

_**But I hear the voices say** _

“Should you be drinking while we do this?” asks Deanna.

Dean takes a swig out of his beer bottle. “One, yes. And two, _we’re_ not doing this, _you’re_ doing this.”

“Me?” the fifteen-year-old repeats. “You’re going to let _me_ change a tire on the Impala.”

The car is already up on a jack in the middle of the bunker’s garage. They’ve checked the oil and windshield washer fluid, Deanna doing most of the work under Dean’s supervision, but now he’s gotten a beer out of the mini fridge and is looking at her expectantly.

“One, it’s not technically changing, since you’re just going to take it off and put it back on again. And two, I have to be sure you know how, if you’re ever gonna take her out on your own.”

Deanna shrugs. “You know, it’s really annoying when you—” She freezes. “On my own? You’re going to let me take her out alone, Uncle Dean?”

“Not if you can’t change a tire.”

“Can I get a beer now?” she asks, eagerly.

“Ha, ha – No,” says Dean.

“Can I get you to hand me stuff, like I always do for you?”

Dean smiles. “That, we can do. C’mon, show me what you’ve got.”

He hands Deanna the lug wrench and watches with pride as she double-checks the jack and gets to work. For a few minutes, she keeps looking back at him, but Dean just leans back against the short wall of the motorcycle bay, sipping his beer. The lug nuts give her a little trouble – she barely weighs a hundred pounds and doesn’t look like she’s getting any of her dad’s height – but Deanna knows what she’s doing.

When she’s finished, Deanna grins and holds out her arms. “Well?”

Dean makes a show of looking it over and takes his time lowering the jack. Finally, he says, “Not bad.”

“Yes!” She grins. “ _Now_ can I have a beer?”

He holds out his bottle, then pulls it back. “Just a sip. And don’t tell your dad.”

“Nope,” she agrees, and takes a big swig of beer before handing it back. “So, Uncle Dean, can I have Baby after you die?”

“Maybe,” he says, as if he hasn’t already put that in his will.

Denna leans against the Impala beside him, head on his shoulder. “I hope that’s not for a long time, though.”

Dean puts his arm around her. “Me, too, kiddo.”

“But I’m gonna borrow her, like, a lot.”

He laughs. “We’ll see.”

_**Carry on my wayward son** _

“Thanks again for coming along with me, Cas,” says Eileen, hanging her fed suit in the motel closet. “I used to do easy hunts like this on my own, but it’s just getting more annoying to have to… to translate.”

“It’s no trouble,” Cas tells her, signing along as he speaks, but he understands what she means. Not many people know sign language – Eileen can read lips well enough, but most people don’t speak clearly.

The hunt is a ghost who’s been attacking people at what used to be a local train station, and most of the problem is figuring out the ghost’s identity. They’ve borrowed some books and ledgers from the local library and they hope to know who it is before nightfall, when the next attack is likely to happen.

“And,” Eileen adds, joining him with a map of the area, “when you’re here, we don’t have to spend hours digging up a grave with shovels.”

“No,” agrees Cas. As an archangel, it was even easier to exorcise ghosts with a touch than it had been as a seraphim. “A great help at your age.”

She swats him with a notebook – he’d gotten better at the human custom of friendly teasing over the years. “As if you aren’t a bazillion years old yourself.”

He smiles back and they return to their research. 

It’s been years since Cas was on a hunt. Sam and Eileen still go, an easy hunt every few months or so, but Dean has given it up for good and Cas is more than happy to go along with him. Still, he enjoys spending time with Eileen. They’ve bonded over being married to ‘those Winchester boys’, sharing their experiences and exasperations with the only other person who’d understand.

The sun is just beginning to set when Eileen holds up a book, triumphant. “Got it!”

Cas stands. “Shall we?” he signs.

She grins. “Let’s go.”

_**There'll be peace when you are done** _

“Hello,” says Jack, appearing in the middle of dinner.

Dean snorts a laugh. “What the hell have you done to your face?”

“Humans always picture god as an old man with a long beard,” Jack replies. “I thought I would start with a moustache.”

“You look…” begins Sam, but he seems unable to find a word that is both inoffensive and not a lie. “I mean, it’s…”

“I don’t think it suits you in this form,” Cas says, gently. 

When Jack appears on Earth, he always looks the way he did before he became God, a baby-faced twenty-something with a sunny smile.

Now, Jack sighs, “I suspected as much,” and the moustache is gone.

“There’s our boy,” grins Dean. “Don’t worry, kiddo, Sammy can’t grow a beard, either.”

“I can so!” Sam protests, but he’s smiling, too.

“How’s Heaven?” asks Eileen, as they rearrange the table to add an extra chair.

“Better,” Jack says, signing along with his words. “The council is working better than I’d hoped. Once the angels started getting experience on Earth, they’ve become much better at sorting the prayers. It’s still hard not granting every miracle, though. Because I _could_ , but I know that wouldn’t be good for humans.”

“That sounds like a very mature thing to say,” Dean tells him. “We’re proud of you, kid.”

Jack beams. 

**_Lay your weary head to rest_ **

“Chunky peanut butter and strawberry jam,” says Dean, cutting the sandwich in half and moving it to a plate. “As requested.”

“Thanks, Mr. Dean!” cries Sofia, but she carefully caries the plate over to the table where the other kids are already sitting. 

There are currently seven of them in the bunker, ages four-and-a-half to fifteen, four of them just there overnight, two staying until the end of the school year in another two weeks, and one whose father is getting an earful the next time Dean sees him.

Dean makes a sandwich for himself and cleans up the supplies, half-listening to the kids talking and laughing around their lunches, but he still hears the rustle of wings behind him.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” smiles Dean. “I just put everything away, but I can make you a PB&J if you want.”

“No, thank you,”

“You and Jack got all your Heaven stuff sorted out?”

“Yes,” says Cas, smiling back, “the ‘Heaven stuff’ is fine.”

Dean leans against the countertop with his sandwich, and the archangel leans beside him. For a moment, they’re quiet as Dean eats, then Cas adds, “This used to worry me.”

“What?” asks Dean, with a mouth full. “Kids?”

“Yes,” Cas says, seriously. “You have a loving, caring nature, Dean. When we had first begun our romantic relationship, I was sad to know that I could never give you children in the human way.”

“Cas…”

“But I needn’t have worried. Dean, how many children have we had here in the Bunker? The summer camps you and Claire run, all the children who have stayed here for days or weeks, you’ve taken care of them all. Dozens of children, who even after they’re grown – even after they’re _God_ – come back to the home you offer.”

Dean smiles. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

_**Don't you cry no more, no** _

“Robert Castiel Winchester,” says the university president, into the microphone, and an entire section of the audience erupts into cheers.

Robbie can’t keep the grin off his face as he receives his diploma and turns to smile at the stands. Fortunately, his department is the last group to be read and his name is the last one alphabetically, so it’s only a few more minutes before the newly-minted graduates are released to their families. 

The cheering hasn’t died down by the time Robbie reaches his family. Deanna practically tackles him, knocking his mortarboard over his eyes, and he tries to scowl at her but can’t keep the smile off his face.

“My baby brother the doctor,” teases Deanna – he’s not as tall as their dad, but Robbie’s still got her beat by about six inches and she’s never let him forget it. “We’re so proud.”

“We are,” says Dad, seriously, and hugs him more gently. “All of us.”

“Of course we are,” adds Uncle Dean. “Finally, one of us is respectable.”

“Hey,” protests Deanna, and punches him in the shoulder.

Uncle Dean just laughs, and Robbie misses the rest of their playful argument as he’s mobbed by the rest of his family. He trades hugs and hellos with everyone until he gets to Alex, and he pulls her aside.

“So, how do you like your job?” Robbie asks.

She frowns at him. “That depends on why you’re asking.”

He grins. “I’ve got a great idea.”

It took them almost a year to make it happen but by then Alex had completed her Nurse Practitioner certification, and the Lebanon Wayward Clinic is soon busy treating hunters and civilians alike. 

_**Carry on, you will always remember** _

“Bet those old-ass fifties Men of Letters never thought there’d ever be a werewolf getting sworn in,” says Dean, grinning, “let alone a Legacy.”

Sam smiles back, but doesn’t reply as Garth Fitzgerald VI, just as tall and skinny as his father and grandfather before him, raises his hand to recite the membership pledge Sam had written all those years ago.

Garth IV – their Garth – had never joined, but all of his children had. Gertie is the current president, not just of the Lebanon chapter but the entire American Men of Letters, and she’s grinning as she declares her nephew one of their number.

The society isn’t secret anymore, at least to family and friends, and when the official swearing-in is finished, there’s a swell of cheering and applause from the audience.

“I think it’s fantastic,” Sam tells his brother. “The old Men of Letters had some great ideas, but also some really crappy ones. Hunters, too.”

“Exactly,” agrees Dean. “People are people, even when they’re werewolves.”

“I remember a time when neither of us thought that.”

“Yeah, well, we were stupid,” Dean says.

“You were young and misinformed,” corrects Cas, joining them. “You both have learned. And you have ensured that future generations fare better than your own.”

“They have done pretty good,” says Dean.

“There you two are,” says Little Sam – he’s well into middle age, now, but he and his twin are still Little Sam and Little Cas. “We’re taking an official Men of Letters portrait.”

“ _People_ of Letters,” corrects his daughter, Vanessa. “Come on, old people sit up front.”

“Hey,” Dean protests, laughing, and lets her lead them down the corridor.

_**Carry on, nothing equals the splendor** _

Dean parks the Impala at the curb, but leaves the engine running.

It’s a sound he’s known all his life, a sound that means comfort and safety. At times, this car was all he really had in the world, and at others she was full with laughter and family.

And now, he was giving her up. 

Dean rests his hand on the dashboard and takes a deep breath, eyes closed. Then, he turns off the engine and gets out, leaning back against the closed driver’s door.

In the distance, a bell rings. There’s a moment of silence, then the doors to the high school are flung open and a stream of teenagers pour out. Most of them hurry to the buses lining the next street, but one spots him and makes his way over.

“Hey, Uncle Dean,” says Henry.

He’s Sam’s grandson, Deanna’s oldest, just turned eighteen and about to graduate. He’s a lot like Dean – or rather, what Dean thinks he’d have been like if he hadn’t been raised the way he had – and although he tries not to play favorites, everybody knows that Dean’s favorite is Henry.

“Hey, kid,” says Dean.

It’s common enough for Dean to pick any of the kids up from school that Henry doesn’t question it, just grins and starts to walk around the front of the car.

Dean catches his arm and Henry frowns. “What’s up?”

His great-uncle pats the Impala’s hood. “You know, I wasn’t much older than you when my Dad gave her to me. She was the only home your Grandpa Sam and I had growing up. I’ve rebuilt her a few times over the years, but she’s still going strong. Unlike me.”

“Uncle Dean…”

“Relax, kid, I ain’t going anywhere yet,” smiles Dean. “But, I can’t give her the life she deserves anymore. Which is why I’m giving her… to you.”

Henry catches the keys automatically, then freezes. “ _Me?_ ”

“Go to parties, go to concerts, take your friends to the movies,” says Dean. “Drive too fast, play your music too loud, have sex in the backseat.”

“Uncle Dean!” yelps Henry.

Dean smiles. “Take care of her, kid, and you’ll never go wrong.”

“Thanks, Uncle Dean.”

“Of course, there is one catch.”

Henry looks up, warily. “What?”

“You’ll have to give me a ride home.”

“Anytime you like,” Henry laughs.

_**Now your life's no longer empty** _

They lose Jody first.

Not to a monster or demon, just old age. She’s been retired from the sheriff’s department for years, mostly retired from hunting, enjoying the peace and quiet in a small house outside Lebanon she shares with an equally-retired Donna.

Donna had been out late, helping a young hunter take care of a ghost, and she’d come home to find that Jody, settled by their fireplace with a book and a glass of wine, had fallen asleep and never woken.

She calls Alex and Robbie first, then the rest of the family. They hold a hunter’s funeral, with a pyre behind the Wayward Clinic, then move to the Bunker for alcohol-fueled stories about how awesome Jody had been.

Jack arrives with no fanfare and leans against the armchair Sam had claimed. “Hi.”

His fathers smile. “Hey, kiddo,” says Dean. “Jody all settled?”

“Yes,” he says. “I prepared her section of Heaven myself. And she asked me to tell you hello. So… hello.”

“It’s so weird to hear that at her _wake_ ,” says Sam, with a laugh.

“A downside to personally knowing God,” Cas jokes.

Jack smiles back, then adds softly, “It was peaceful. How Jody died. It was a surprise to her, but she was ready. She’s happy, in Heaven.”

“Good,” says Dean. “She deserves it.”

_**Surely heaven waits for you** _

“You’re staring again, Cas,” says Dean, over his morning coffee. “Hasn’t that gotten old by now?”

“Never,” his husband promises. “You are still so beautiful.”

Dean snorts but doesn’t argue, and Cas counts that as progress as he reaches across the table to take Dean’s free hand in his own.

He’s let his vessel age along with Dean, dark hair slowly turning silver, wrinkles deepening in their skin. But Cas is still an angel, with all of his powers intact, and he doesn’t feel the passage of time as his husband does.

Dean moves more slowly, now, and gets tired more easily. He worries about losing his mobility entirely and becoming a burden, but Cas relishes every opportunity to care for his husband. Dean had always believed he would die young, violently, so Cas enjoys every day of domesticity to the fullest.

“Good morning,” says Sam, heading toward the coffee pot.

He’d moved back into the Bunker after Eileen’s death a year ago, calling them _Team Free Will: Geriatric_. He’s slower and wrinkled now, too – and completely bald. Dean, of course, finds this hilarious and brings it up whenever possible. Sam pretends to be offended, but he’d turned down Cas’s offer to restore his hair with a genuine smile.

“What are your plans for the day?” Cas asks, as Sam joins them at the table.

“Little Sam asked me to man the phones this afternoon.”

“ _Little_ Sam,” laughs Dean. “Kid’s middle-aged, Sammy.”

“Think about what you just said,” his brother teases.

Dean shrugs. “I know what I said.”

Cas smiles at them both, then presses a kiss to Dean’s temple as he goes to refill their coffee cups.

_**Carry on, my wayward son** _

“All that rabbit food was for nothin’, huh?” Dean tries to keep his voice light, teasing, but he knows Sam can hear the way it trembles.

Sam, sitting up in bed, pretends he can’t. “We didn’t all have an archangel to unclog our arteries.”

“I only had to do that a few times,” says Cas, and Sam manages a smile.

It doesn’t last long. “Look, we all know what’s going on. I’ve said goodbye to the kids and the grandkids and the _great_ -grandkids. I’m ready.”

“Okay,” says Dean.

“I’ve lived a good long life and I – Wait, what?”

“I said, okay.”

Sam arches an eyebrow. “That’s it? No running off to the crossroad to bargain for my life?”

“No, wiseass,” says Dean. “We had a good run, Sammy, but if it’s your time, it’s _okay_.”

“Only took you ninety years to get there,” Sam teases.

“Doesn’t mean I like it.” Dean squeezes his brother’s hand. “And it’s not like I won’t see you again, pretty soon.”

“Not _too_ soon,” says Sam. “But it does make it easier, knowing for sure there’s a Heaven. Most people don’t get that.”

“Most people didn’t raise God,” Cas points out. “Or prevent more than one apocalypse.”

“Yeah,” says Sam, his voice raspy. “We did our bit.”

“And that means a few rules can be bent.” Jack is suddenly in the room, as young as ever. “Sam, it’s time.”

“But Death…?” Dean begins, uncertainly.

Jack smiles. “We have an understanding. And she understood I’d want to escort my father’s soul to Heaven.”

He hugs Cas, then Dean, then moves to the side of the bed. “Sam?”

Sam takes Jack’s hand. “I’m ready.” 

His next breath is shaky, then his body collapses against the pillows, and Jack steps back, hands held protectively against his chest.

“Is he…?” Dean asks.

Cas nods. “Your limited human mind cannot perceive it, but Jack is now holding Sam’s soul.”

“Thanks, babe,” mutters Dean, sarcastically, but he smiles at Jack. “Take care of him?”

“I’ve prepared his section of Heaven myself,” their son replies. “Eileen is already there.”

“Then don’t keep her waiting,” says Dean.

Between one blink and the next, Jack vanishes.

Dean stays sitting for a long moment, beside his brother’s body.

Then he claps both hands to his knees and rises, briskly. “C’mon, Cas, we got a funeral to plan.”

_**There'll be peace when you are done** _

When Dean wakes up, he’s not in his room at the Bunker, where he expected to be.

He’s standing in a wide field, surrounded by tall trees, grass rippling in the light breeze, sunshine filtering down through fluffy clouds. There’s a flutter of wings and Cas is beside him.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” smiles Dean. “So, this is Heaven.”

The angel looks young again, like he did when he first took his vessel, but his smile is old and familiar. When Dean holds out a hand to him, he sees that he’s younger himself. He can breathe easier, now, and nothing creaks or aches when he moves closer to his husband.

“Yes,” says Cas. “I’m sorry you’re here so soon.”

“Dude, I’m _ninety-eight_ ,” Dean laughs. “I never thought I’d live long enough to be old, let alone _ancient_.”

Cas smiles. “I am billions of years old, Dean. You are still young, compared to me.”

“Cradle-robber,” he jokes, with a kiss. There’s no need to breathe here, and he’s not sure how long they kiss before he pulls back again. “Wait, in Heaven, will I be able to see your true form?”

“Yes,” says Cas. “Angels typically appear in human shape to human souls, as that’s how they expect us. But I’d like you to see me as I really am.”

Dean steps back, grinning. “Awesome. Let’s go.”

Cas smiles again. “We have all eternity for that. Now, there is a party where you’re expected.”

“Sam?” asks Dean.

“Among others. Once Jack took down the walls separating individual Heavens, everyone began to mingle. They’ve taken to congregating at Harvelle’s Roadhouse, even those who never knew Ellen. She’s promised to have all your favorites. Including several types of pie.”

Dean grins. “Wouldn’t be Heaven without pie.”

Cas smiles back. “Shall we go?”

“Sure.” Dean holds out his hand. “Ready when you are.”

“I’m more than willing to transport us there,” says Cas, still smiling. “But I thought you’d prefer to drive.”

Just beyond the edge of the trees, the Impala sits gleaming in the sunshine. Dean puts a hand into his pocket and pulls out the keys. “Ride with me, Cas?”

“Always,” the archangel promises.

They get into the car, and Dean starts the engine. For a moment, he just sits, listening, then, “How soon are they expecting us?”

“Time has a different meaning in Heaven,” says Cas.

“Awesome,” says Dean, and puts the Impala in drive.

_**Lay your weary head to rest  
Don't you cry, don't you cry no more** _

_**No more** _

THE END


End file.
